


In Darkness

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Category: Aladdin (2019)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing Scene, they didn't give us the dungeon scene so I did it myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: Missing scene from the 2019 movie. Or, how Aladdin got from being arrested by the guards to sitting in the desert with Jafar...





	In Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Aladdin refers to Jasmine as Dalia in this because he hasn't yet learned the truth about her, since Jafar reveals that in the desert.

_ “Are we in trouble?” _

_ “Only if you get caught.” _

He meant it as a joke, more or less. And the part of it that wasn’t a joke was the honest realization that of the two of them, the girl, whose name he hadn’t even known at the time, was the one most likely to end up in the hands of the guards. 

They’d been lucky, almost unbelievably so. Aladdin was by no means sure they were both getting out of that one, but looking back on it, it had been fun, and clearly Dalia was impressed. 

He knows it was a foolish risk, coming back here to see her. But he needed to.  _ I steal what I need to survive. And I need her. _ He knows it’s insane; he’s known her less than a day, how can she become as important to his existence as tomorrow’s stolen dates or bread? And yet she is. 

It’s truly ironic, that he’ll be punished for the first time he’s  _ returned  _ something stolen.  _ I’m going to lose my hands for being honest. How pathetic is that? _ Granted, he did steal her hairpin, but he’s pretty sure that was more of a borrowing really, since he fully intended to return it. But they haven’t even found that. 

He’s seen the beggars in the market, hands severed at the wrists, the bowls in their laps empty or nearly so. No one wants to help a thief. His own wrists are held uncomfortably tight in the manacles against the wall. The metal is cutting into his skin, but he knows the sword biting into them tomorrow will be so much worse. That’s if they even bother with his hands and don’t go straight for his neck. 

He was found leaving the private chambers of the Sultan’s daughter, and the man is notoriously protective of his only child.  _ Men have been publicly executed for lesser crimes than daring to enter the palace like this.  _

It’s also possible they’ll sell him. Most criminals are sent to the dungeons or the executioner, but he knows all too well that he’s potentially a very valuable sale. More than one disgruntled street vendor has threatened that if he ever got his hands on Aladdin, he’d get his money back by selling him to the slavers. He’s not sure if a quick death or a degraded life is the better option. Not that he has a choice, really. 

Abu chitters weakly. He’s not tied or chained, but he’s refusing to leave Aladdin’s side. The guards have tried to chase him away, even kicked him, and the little monkey is clutching one front paw to his chest. Aladdin wishes he had his hands free to see if a bone is broken, and to bind it if it was. But the only comfort he can offer Abu is his voice, and his insistence that they’re going to be alright is convincing no one. 

He shivers. The dungeon is almost completely dark. A few rays of moonlight sneak through slits in the top of the stone wall, and a torch flickers in the stale air, the flame sending blood-red glints across the stones on the wall. Aladdin can feel something small crawling over his feet, he doesn’t dare look too closely. There are probably thousands of vile things in the heap of filthy rags where he’s sitting.

The door opens, and he flinches.  _ Why are they coming for me now? _ He thought his punishment would be public, a warning. Not that he wants to brag, but he  _ is _ one of the most wanted criminals in Agrabah. The only ones with more of a price on their head are actual murderers. 

Maybe they’re coming to take him away to be tortured. He shivers. He can only imagine what they might do. What the Sultan might feel is a fit punishment for someone who dared to leave any taint of scandal around his daughter.  _ Even though I only came to see her handmaid, I was a man, unaccompanied, in her chambers. If word were to spread… _ A chill colder than the stone ripples down his spine.  _ This is why they came for me now. To kill me before I have the chance to smear the honor of the princess.  _ The sultan probably believes that a man with nothing to lose might, at a public punishment, announce the full circumstances, and irretrievably damage the woman’s chances at a profitable marriage. 

So it’s going to be done quietly. In the dark. Maybe right here. He’d been grateful to be put in a cell by himself; some of the other prisoners had been watching him hungrily when he was led down, but now that too makes sense.  _ Couldn’t have word spreading about where I’d been and what I’d done. _ Which is why they’d locked him away in the furthest, loneliest cell.  _ I was half afraid they’d forget about me and leave me to starve. _

He doesn’t fight back when the blindfold is tied over his eyes. When his hands are removed from the manacles and bound tightly behind him. When he’s dragged up the stairs, stumbling at the weight as Abu leaps onto his shoulder and clings, the night wind fresh on his face. When he’s forced up and onto a camel, nearly falling off as the beast lumbers to its feet. 

_ Maybe this isn’t an execution after all.  _ It’s possible they want to bury his body in the shifting desert sands, erase every trace of what he’s done tonight. But it’s far more likely that this is a journey to a slave caravan. A caravan that will take him far, far from Agrabah, away from anyone who would care to hear what he has to say. _In the right land, no one I was sold to would even understand what I was saying._ And who would ever believe the claims of a slave anyway?

He shivers in the cold night wind off the desert. Beside him, Abu is huddling into the side of his vest, trembling. The little monkey hates the cold. At home he would burrow himself into the heap of silk scarves he’s snatched from vendors, pulling them over and around him into a warm nest. And Aladdin would have at least the tattered blanket he tries to keep mended. But here, atop the camel, unable to even rub his arms to stay warm, he can’t stop shaking. He’s half afraid he’ll fall off the animal entirely.

He can feel when the sun comes up. The desert air changes, the sounds change, and most of all, there’s a comforting warmth. Sunrise has always been his favorite part of the day. It’s always meant a time to start over. And even now, on his way to what can only be horrors, no matter what lies ahead, he feels a tiny flicker of hope.

“Stop.” The caravan halts so abruptly that Aladdin nearly falls onto the neck of his camel. He’s dragged off and led away, then forced to sit down on the sand. And then the blindfold is pulled from his face and he’s staring into the burning dark eyes of the man he knows is the Grand Vizier of Agrabah. And he has no idea what is going to happen now.

_ Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than I’ve already imagined. _ He sits a bit straighter and raises his head to meet the man’s eyes unflinchingly.  _ Whatever happens now, I will not cower like the street rat they call me. I will face whatever is coming, and be the kind of man Dalia can say she was proud to have known. _


End file.
